


OutLoud

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Alternate Universes, Angst, Drama, First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:44:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heartache and poignant discovery brought on by a news announcement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	OutLoud

## OutLoud

by BL

Not mine. No infringment intended. No profit earned.

This is a short work posted to SXF in 1998, but never archived. Huge thanks to Sherry who kept a copy, and to Ann who pointed me in her direction. I tend to lose things. Often.

This is a piece written in anquish when Matthew Shepard was murdered. My apologies if the subject is too disturbing.

* * *

Jim Ellison heard the catch in his partner's voice and dialed up his senses in response. It was an automatic and unconscious action. His guide was the other half of his whole and any perceived threat to the young man was a threat to himself. He felt the tension escalating in the body next to him as the news played on, leaving behind the life of a man killed because of who he was. 

They sat on the sofa next to each other. Planted there with a beer after a heavy day of obligations. Legs stretched before them, propped on the coffee table. Eyes peered over bare-feet at the TV set across from them. 

Jim parked his draft on the end table next to him and leaned back against the upholstery. Turning his head against the creamy material, he delved into his senses and let essence of Sandburg wash over him. He felt the body next to him tense as a description of wounds inflicted upon a young man, by people filled with hate, poured from the watch-box. He listened to a heartbeat stumble and flutter as tones of broadcasting school voices tripped over the telling of a single life snuffed out, gone. He watched crystal shards resembling tears spill from between dark lashes, flowing moltenly over pale skin, leaving behind a rainbow sheen of sorrow. A long slender throat gulped back sound that amplified in a chest spasming with anguish. Jim Ellison existed in those moments with Blair wrapped senses. Hurt communicated itself to him, and he reached for his partner. 

Blair started and glanced to the man beside him. Mirrored sorrow played across ice-blue eyes, and he felt his soul shatter. His body moved and his mind followed. Awkward limbs shunted back from his friend, away from grief exposed. His heart searched for a place to hide. He watched Jim's eyes bloom with concern and turned to escape the rawness of the moment. 

"Gonna take a shower," he choked out, disappearing rapidly toward the back of the loft. 

Jim watched him go, battling his own want to comfort his friend, there by himself, and his realization that Sandburg needed space. Expanded senses refused to diffuse and he heard the rasp of clothing being shed from skin, and discarded to the tile floor. He trespassed still, all senses supporting the sound of hot water sheeting over skin. 

Sandburg let the water drench him. Hair swept back, weighted heavily with moisture. He turned into the spray letting it fill his mouth, hoping to hold back the hurt that welled in his chest. Muscles spasmed in a throat trying to squeeze vocal chords into submissive silence. The Guide swallowed water, coughing convulsively, and the pain surged, escaping in guttural grief, so far from sobs, and so close to the hellish rumble of earth tearing. 

The Sentinel fell to, in Jim Ellison, obliterating rational thought. The Guide was in danger. Ellison moved to protect his own. 

Sandburg was beyond caring if Jim could hear. He let the waves of sorrow pour forth in words formed on the edges of a tongue swelled with anger born of shock. He scraped the water back from his face, hands smoothing it through the heavy mane of hair hanging down his back. Dark strands fell twice as long with the curl punished out of it by wetness. Shoulders leaned into the cool tile of the shower and hot spray continued to caress muscles contracting uncontrollably. The anthropologist tilted his head up, banging it harshly against the wall behind him, trying to obliterate the emotional storm with physical pain. 

Storm-blue eyes fringed with darkness shot open as his head fell back once more, meeting flesh instead of hard tile. He felt fingers curl into his hair and glanced aside to find his friend stepping forward into the fall of the shower, clothing and all. 

He was pulled around into strong arms that wrapped about him securely. Wet flannel caressed the side of his face and large palms stroked over his shoulders. Sorrow swept aside for the bubble of hysteria that rose within him. His mind fought with coherence and he formed a string of words that tripped over his swollen tongue. 

"Jim...man...I'm naked here," he rasped. 

"Noticeably naked." Jim Ellison rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and was caught momentarily by divergent streams of steam rising, parting, and coming together. The dim recesses of his mind caressed the vision and cataloged it as analogous of something. Something important, but he was sidetracked by the life he held in his arms. He felt the body next to him shudder and pulled it impossibly closer, laying warm lips upon a smooth forehead. "Let it go, Blair. Help me." 

Blair gurgled and rolled his forehead to rest on a broad chest. Sound broke surface imitating a sob doing an impression of laughter. 

"Cliche. Everything I want to say feels cliche. Why? Why? Why does this happen? Who are these people who hate? Why does it hurt me so much?" Broken syllables shot forth, rebounding off that wet flannel, and soaking into the clouds of steam, claimed by greedy molecules. Gone. 

Ellison rocked slightly, bare-feet clinging to porcelain. Hands moved along his Guide's back trying to fold him into his own chest, his own heart. He couldn't. So he did what he could. He let his heart out to Blair. 

"I love you." Soft words fell from lips that relished the feeling of them. He let his heart out again. "Blair. I love you." The body he held stilled, and he tightened his arms once more, afraid that the man he held could, and would, disappear from them. 

"Say that again. Say it out loud." Blair raised solemn eyes to his friend, taking in wet skin and crystal blue eyes that perched on the edge of panic. He clutched at shoulders and reached up pulling at a strong neck, bringing him face to face with his Sentinel. 

Jim Ellison fell into sorrow filled eyes curling at the edges with hope. His exposed soul threw panic aside and plunged into the ease of acceptance. Lips tugged slightly into a shy smile. 

"I love you, Blair. You." Large hands curved up over shoulders to cup the rough skin along his partner's jaw. He tipped the handsome face below him forward, placing a lingering kiss upon a damp brow. Just damp. 

"Jim? Like heart to heart, soul to soul, I want you forever in my arms love?" The young man felt lips move across his brow, and an affirmative whispered warmly in his ear. The world spun and tipped him into the man before him, and he latched on with strong arms seeking to pull him into his heart. Frustrated, because it wasn't enough, he let his heart out. Full lips pressed to taut flesh and he licked at a pulse-point. 

"I love you, too," he rumbled against his partner's throat. He remembered sorrow, and it expanded into something more within him. A strength. Love created a foundation upon which belief stood proudly. "Out loud, Jim. No more hiding. We deserve to be. Love deserves to be." Blair stared up into eyes that mirrored love, into a soul that conveyed hope, and into a heart that prayed for peace. 

**DUO**

"Matches, Chief! Or, a lighter!" Ellison grabbed his jacket and called once more over his shoulder. "Where did you put the candles!?" He glanced around the loft swiftly, searching. 

Sandburg emerged from their bedroom, moving swiftly down the stairs. He snagged his jacket and shoved it under his arm. 

"Right here," he claimed, patting his backpack. "I've got everything. Hold still." He pulled a handful of yellow from his jean pocket and waited for Jim to settle into his coat. Strands of yellow separated into ribbons. Green circles pocked the surface of the ribbon. He tied a ribbon around his partner's arm, complimenting it with a slim black strand. 

Jim looked down at his partner and time stood vibrant in the colors of the rainbow. Following the traditions of the tribe, his companion readied him for the fine fight, and he did the same in return, wrapping colors representing hope and peace about his Guide's slim arm. Their weapons were waxen staffs that would light up the nights, and proclaim to the world that love could be, and was, transcendent over all. 

* * *

End OutLoud by BL: jessdutcher@yahoo.com

Author and story notes above.

  
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